What the Light Reveals Read online

  ‘Thank you.’ Conrad sat.

  The QC began. ‘You are Conrad John Murphy, born in Brisbane on the twenty-fourth of March 1920. That is correct?’ Cringely didn’t look at Conrad, instead focusing on a pile of papers resting on his desk, flicking through them.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You are a consulting engineer, Mr Murphy? And you live at 22 Type Street, Richmond, Victoria. Yes?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Conrad said, a tightness in his throat. He didn’t like how the QC made statements he challenged you to deny, rather than asking questions.

  ‘You were told the reason for your summons was because of a reference to you in a document in Mr Petrov’s possession, handed to the government on the third of August this year?’

  ‘Is that what the exhibits are?’ Conrad asked.

  Cringely finally raised his head. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, in that case, no, I wasn’t aware until I saw today’s schedule on the noticeboard in the foyer.’

  The QC returned his focus to the exhibits. ‘No matter.’

  ‘And I don’t know what they’re about. Or who wrote them.’

  Cringely paused, as if waiting for Conrad to continue, his reading glasses perched on the end of his precipitous nose. ‘I will read an interpretation of the document, the original of which is in Russian and written by a Mr Sadovnikov, Mr Petrov’s predecessor at the Soviet embassy in Canberra.’

  Frank Powell stood. ‘Your Honours,’ he said, ‘might I be able to see a copy of the documents?’

  Cringely peered over the top of his glasses. ‘Are you fluent in Russian?’

  Powell stretched a hand towards the QC, who selected two sheets from the top of his pile to pass to Conrad’s lawyer.

  ‘Would it be possible for me to also have a copy?’ Conrad said.

  The QC carried another copy to the dock, not watching where he was going. ‘I’m sure there’s no question of your Russian fluency,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Cringely, why do you say interpretation rather than translation?’ Powell asked.

  ‘It’s not important.’

  ‘I hope it is a translation,’ Powell said. ‘I hope it’s faithful to the original.’

  ‘Mr Powell,’ Chairman O’Brien said. ‘I take your point, but we will let Mr Cringely continue.’

  ‘Of course, Your Honour.’

  ‘Letter number two from Moscow, dated the fourteenth of June 1948, reads in part: “Conrad Murphy, born 1920, Major, Bachelor of Engineering, illegal member of the academy. During World War II worked on the island as a technical expert attached to general staff in Birmingham. Studied further, notably tank matters, and has valuable expertise in the sphere of military research.”’

  As he read, Cringely walked the floor between the lawyers’ desks and the commissioners’ bench. He stopped beside his own desk and wheezed. ‘We have concluded,’ he said, his back to Conrad and the commissioners as he addressed the journalists at the rear of the gallery, ‘that the island means England, the academy means the Communist Party and illegal means undercover member.’ Cringely dropped the papers to his desk with a flourish.

  Frank Powell remained in his chair. ‘What do you suppose Birmingham means, Your Honours?’

  ‘Mr Powell,’ O’Brien said, ‘please, may we proceed?’

  ‘Certainly, Your Honour, although it’s odd that England should be disguised as the island while Birmingham has no code.’

  O’Brien pressed his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose, as if trying to quench a flow of blood. ‘Regrettably, I have to agree with you, Mr Powell.’

  ‘There’s no Birmingham in Tasmania, is there? Or any other island you’re familiar with?’

  ‘You’ve made your point,’ O’Brien said. ‘Mr Cringely, proceed, please.’

  ‘Mr Murphy,’ Cringely said, ‘you are a member of the Communist Party of Australia, yes?’

  ‘I am,’ Conrad said. ‘But I’ve never been an undercover or illegal member. And I don’t know of any such status.’

  ‘You admit, then, that at all events and at all times you have always been an avowed communist?’

  ‘Yes,’ Conrad said. ‘When the company was such as to make it worthwhile to discuss political issues.’

  ‘But when you thought it was not worthwhile,’ Cringely said, ‘you did not disclose your Communist Party membership?’

  ‘I don’t go around announcing my membership to the world, no. But I don’t deny it either,’ Conrad replied. ‘Surely that is the relevant issue?’

  ‘It is up to us to determine relevance, Mr Murphy,’ Justice Roth said, reedy and nasal, his horsehair wig hanging loose about his ears.

  ‘Of course, Your Honour,’ Conrad said.

  ‘So,’ Cringely said, tapping his pen against the exhibit, ‘what you’re telling us is that you’ve never under any circumstances denied or withheld from any person that you are a member of the Communist Party?’

  ‘I’ve never denied it.’

  ‘But you have withheld it?’

  ‘If asked a direct question about my political allegiance I’ve never withheld an honest answer,’ Conrad said. ‘But I don’t proclaim myself a communist when buying a train ticket.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Murphy,’ said Chairman O’Brien. ‘If you could kindly stick to the point.’

  ‘Your time in Birmingham,’ Cringely said. ‘You were connected with the Communist Party there? A leading member?’

  ‘I was not a leading member.’

  ‘But you were a well-known member of the Communist Party?’

  ‘Mr Cringely, perhaps you could clear something up for me?’ Conrad said. ‘Do you allege that I was an illegal, undercover member of the Communist Party, as you described me earlier, or a well-known and leading one, as you now propose?’

  The QC turned to the judges’ bench. ‘Your Honours, I find the witness needlessly argumentative.’

  ‘Mr Cringely, I have to agree with the witness on this point,’ said Justice Littlejohn, drawing a glare from his chairman.

  Littlejohn was unmoved. ‘Mr Cringely?’

  There was the faintest shrug of Cringely’s shoulders. ‘Mr Murphy, were you ever the leader of a branch? In Birmingham or anywhere else?’

  ‘No. Just an ordinary member,’ Conrad said. ‘I never held an official position.’

  ‘But an unofficial position? An undercover position? You don’t deny that?’

  ‘Yes, I deny it. I held no position. And I’m not aware of the existence of any undercover positions.’

  ‘And when you were a member of the Communist Party in Birmingham, while simultaneously being an army officer,’ Cringely said, before pausing, ‘were you at any time concerned with the dissemination of communist propaganda?’

  ‘I object,’ Frank Powell said. ‘The witness has been called in relation to this document.’ He held up the letter. ‘This exhibit, dated 1948, which makes no reference whatsoever to the witness’s political activities during wartime. I submit that the only thing relevant to these proceedings is whether the material in the exhibit is deemed true or not. And whether the interpretation, as Mr Cringely so aptly referred to it, has any credibility.’

  Justice Roth slapped his open palm against the bench. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We wish to find out how the witness’s name came to be worthy of inclusion in the document. Why the Russians labelled him an illegal.’

  ‘None of that is relevant to my client’s testimony,’ Powell said.

  ‘Espionage is not relevant?’ Roth asked.

  ‘What evidence do you have of espionage? What suggestion of it is there in the exhibit? It says he knows a thing or two about tanks. That’s all. It then seeks more information about him. And if in 1948 the Soviets are seeking information about him, they obviously don’t know him. So he can’t have been involved in espionage on their behalf in the preceding years, can he?’

  Conrad allowed himself to smile.

  ‘Whether he has or has not been involved, before or after
1948, nobody knows,’ O’Brien said. ‘That’s what we’re here to find out.’

  ‘The Soviets didn’t know, that’s for sure,’ Powell said.

  ‘May we continue, Mr Powell?’

  ‘As you wish, Your Honour.’ Powell took his seat, before immediately rising again. ‘But I would like it noted that I object to this questioning because I believe it to be outside the terms of reference of this commission.’

  ‘Noted, Mr Powell,’ O’Brien said.

  Cringely resumed. ‘Mr Murphy, did you ever seek information concerning military movements?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Despite being a communist, you never sought information about strategic military movements?’

  ‘I did not. I had no opportunity to observe any movements except those that occurred outside my office window.’

  ‘And what were they?’

  ‘Outside my window? People smoking cigarettes, mostly.’

  It was clear this single letter formed the basis of the entire examination. It was the only Soviet embassy document that named Conrad, and with nothing else to support the contention he was spying for the Soviets, Cringely had no choice but to probe away at every sentence, every word, every piece of interpreted code, in an effort to uncover a contradiction, perceived or real, in Conrad’s testimony.

  The QC continued his pursuit for two more hours until, shortly after 1 p.m., there was a 45-minute break for lunch. When they resumed, the focus of questioning moved to Australia in 1948, where Conrad had continued his engineering work for the army. Cringely and Roth tried to make him implicate himself and others – his friends, family and even senior officers in various divisions of the military – all to no avail. They tried to make him admit to undercover status, seditious activity, treacherous intent, and they became progressively more frustrated when they continued to come up empty-handed.

  ‘To be clear, though,’ Cringely asked Conrad towards the end of the day, ‘you made your communist activities known to your superior officers?’

  ‘I’ve already told you, my views were known to those of my superiors who asked me about them.’

  ‘Will you listen to the question,’ Justice Roth said. ‘You are asked whether you told your superiors that you were a member of the Communist Party.’

  ‘They knew my views,’ repeated Conrad, running the tip of his index finger over the beads of sweat on his upper lip.

  Roth leaned down from his bench. ‘The answer is yes or no.’

  ‘In that case, the answer is no, I did not tell them unless they asked.’

  ‘You told us earlier that you had told them. But now you say the complete opposite.’ Cringely pulled himself up tall, tugging at the lapels of his waistcoat as he puffed out his chest. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are an unreliable man.’

  ‘I quite agree,’ Roth said, his back to Conrad as he addressed his fellow commissioners. ‘And I have no doubt the witness would deny anything to further his aims.’

  ‘I’ve done no such thing,’ Conrad said. ‘I’ve always answered the questions put to me as openly and accurately as I could.’

  Roth glared at Conrad. ‘That displays only the limit of your capacity for openness.’

  ‘Mr Murphy, please,’ Chairman O’Brien said, ‘you will answer the question plainly or you’ll return to this court day after day after day.’

  Conrad waited for his emotions to calm. ‘I am confident they were aware of my views,’ he said, ‘and, to a lesser extent, of my membership.’

  ‘Well, then,’ Cringely said, ‘can you suggest why your name might be in this document?’

  ‘You also have my correct details on a list,’ Conrad said. ‘They’re not exactly difficult to acquire.’

  ‘But are you spying for the Russians?’

  ‘No,’ he said, relieved that finally the allegation had been made. ‘I am not now, nor have I ever been, a spy for the Russians.’

  Frank Powell stood. ‘Mr Murphy, it has been suggested today that you were concealing your Communist Party activities to protect your alleged undercover status.’ Conrad’s lawyer paused to glance at the QC. ‘But during your time in the army in Birmingham, or Melbourne, or anywhere else, can you ever recall an officer telling you he was a member of a conservative political party?’

  ‘No, I cannot.’

  ‘Can you recall any officer telling you that he was not a member of a conservative party?’

  ‘I cannot recall that either.’

  ‘Did you assume that those officers were actively concealing their memberships of these political parties from you? That they were in fact undercover members and had conspired to mislead you?’

  ‘I assumed nothing of the sort.’ Conrad looked across at Cringely, who’d taken his seat for the first time since the day’s proceedings had started.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Powell said. ‘Thank you, Mr Murphy. Thank you, Your Honours.’

  Chairman O’Brien checked his watch. ‘Is that all you have for this witness, Mr Cringely?’

  The QC scanned his desk. ‘At the present time, Your Honour,’ he said, before reconsidering. ‘Actually, I retract that.’ He resumed his feet. ‘I would like, if I may, to return to the issue of the witness’s undercover status.’

  ‘Your Honour,’ said Powell, ‘surely the complete absence of any substance regarding this line of enquiry has already been made clear?’

  Cringely ignored Powell. ‘Did you, Mr Murphy, reveal to anyone why you were making this trip to Sydney?’

  ‘I object,’ said Powell. ‘What is the relevance of this?’

  ‘Mr Cringely? Need I warn you?’ said O’Brien.

  ‘It goes to the witness’s reliability, Your Honour. His truthfulness.’

  ‘Your Honour, this is too much,’ Powell said.

  ‘Why not let it proceed?’ Justice Roth said. ‘I see no harm in it.’

  ‘Did you explain the reason for your trip to the landlady at your guesthouse in Bellevue Street?’ Cringely said.

  Roth sucked the air between his teeth, wetly. At the back of the court chatter rose among the reporters.

  ‘Mr Cringely, that is well and truly enough,’ Justice Littlejohn said. ‘The witness need not respond.’

  The corner of the QC’s mouth twisted up.

  ‘Your Honours,’ Powell said, his voice loud. ‘I ask that the witness be released. Immediately.’

  ‘Yes,’ the chairman replied. ‘We are done for the day.’

  Conrad stood in the dock. ‘Your Honour,’ Conrad asked, ‘am I free to go?’

  ‘For the moment,’ O’Brien said.

  ‘Do I need to stay in Sydney?’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’

  ‘Your Honour,’ Powell said, ‘it would be fair to state on the record that the commission finds no evidence suggesting Mr Murphy is engaged in espionage or any other activities against the interests of this country.’

  ‘I do not propose to state that, Mr Powell,’ O’Brien said.

  ‘So while you are finished with Mr Murphy, you will not exonerate him to remove any taint of these allegations made against him?’

  ‘Mr Powell, no allegations against Mr Murphy have been made in this commission,’ O’Brien said. ‘That is all.’

  All three justices stood and faced the court as grim as stone, then stepped down from their podium, leaving Conrad alone in front of the gallery. He pushed open the dock’s gate and shuffled dreamlike across the wooden floorboards while Xavier Cringely stuffed documents into his briefcase as if he was late for something.

  ‘C’mon,’ Powell said. ‘Let’s go.’

  Conrad followed his lawyer up the aisle that split the courtroom’s gallery. Powell maintained a purposeful stride out of the courtroom, along the hallway to the entrance foyer and onto the courthouse’s front steps. Conrad took the open air into his lungs, gazing up to the burdenless blue of the sky. He patted down his jacket pockets, searching for his cigarettes. ‘Is that what it’s normally like?’

  ‘Yes,
unfortunately,’ Powell said. ‘And no. Not what happened at the end. The stunt Cringely pulled was out of order.’

  Conrad offered his lawyer a cigarette, which Powell declined. He chose one for himself and lit it. ‘So what happens now?’ he asked. ‘After they drag me up here for two days, plus travel – four days off work with no compensation other than my fare, so they can talk in circles and ignore what I say?’

  ‘I wish that was all of it,’ Powell said. ‘But after the QC’s parting comments I suspect your main worry is going to be those bastards.’ He directed a thumb over his shoulder towards a huddle of reporters at the courthouse doors, not noticing one of them had already approached.

  ‘Mr Murphy, do you believe you weren’t given a fair hearing?’

  ‘Don’t talk to him,’ Powell said, grabbing Conrad by the sleeve to lead him away.

  ‘No, no. It’s all right,’ Conrad said, lifting his arm free.

  ‘Conrad, don’t give them a headline.’

  ‘I won’t, Frank.’

  ‘Well, then, walk away.’

  ‘Mr Murphy,’ the reporter said, ‘perhaps now isn’t the right time. Could I have a few moments later this evening?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Don’t you want to put your side of it?’

  ‘Would that sell your newspapers?’ Conrad asked. ‘Would it even get published?’

  ‘We’re not the enemy, Mr Murphy,’ the reporter said. ‘It’s not about us, after all.’

  ‘I appreciate your interest, but I’ll take my lawyer’s advice and keep my statements for the commissioners.’

  ‘But, like you say, they don’t believe a word of it.’

  Conrad began to walk away, but stopped. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Marcus French.’

  ‘And you’re with …?’

  ‘The Sydney Morning Herald.’

  Conrad tried to remember if he’d seen French’s by-line on any of the stories he’d read that morning.

  ‘Conrad, don’t talk to him, okay?’ Powell had doubled back and again grabbed Conrad’s arm to yank him away. ‘Without Petrov you’re their main target today.’

  ‘Mr Murphy, let me pay for a taxi back to your guesthouse,’ French said. ‘It’s been a long day.’